FixedIntelGate .. our bloodless coup

(Please check pogblog Glossary for unfamiliar & coined words.)

 

David's pebbles against Goliath's flak .. 

our bloodless coup ..

 

Great friend of pogblog, chancelucky, was thoughtfully lamenting the gigaspurt-and-blurt of info on X & Y & Z subjects in the media and on the internet perhaps past any reason. I would like to send this open letter in general defiance of that attractive but flawed position.   

 

At first site, I mean sight, chancelucky, your eloquent argument is ludditily¹ soothing,  but having been as obsessed as could be about the FixedIntelGate¹ (Rove; Downing St Memo &c), I have to defiantly disagree, finally.

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We're in our infancy against a savage and perfected Republican and White House Predator Information Machine, but the future is very much at stake. I'm proud and happy to be part of  the noosphere¹, the living-knowledge sphere.

 

This treacherous Administration is on its 2nd four years of consolidating obscene wealth in the already grotesquely rich; despoiling the shared environment of the spaceship; spending $14000 a minute on the fantasy Missile Crackpot Scheme aka StarWars; $200,000 a minute on the Iraq Quagmire; and more costs in lack of splendid education and lack of splendid universal healthcare than we can count.

 

They fixed the intel to fit the policy. It's taking time on the blogbrain for this to get out, for the new synapses to stabilize, for the hypnotized and bought 'media' to get corrected and re-corrected. If it were not for the noosphere Internet obsession, FixedIntelGate would have vanished long since and Goliath's Hummerjuggernaut would be rolling over more of the few stalwart bodies who would continue to squawk.

 

Watching and feeling and participating in the slowly accreting and concerting noosphere action — quite symphonic really — as it blooms has been thrilling and important.

 

We're refining our David against Goliath tactics, and tho there is a fair amount of inconvenient and even annoying redundancy, the Lizards have learned long ago about the importance of “It's the repetition, stupid.” Just like in kindergarten. We need to learn to do it too.

 

Pogblog, for instance, has been spreading the idea that we never say 'billion,' a dirigible ho-hum floating word, but rather always $1000 million dollars, about which people invariably gasp. Try it out around the water cooler. I have learned to say it cost $14000 a minute for stupid Star Wars. I just learned to add that we're paying $200,000 a minute for the Iraq Debacle. It takes time to refine. The Lizards have every issue in a fortune cookie.¹ Remember No New Taxes? This is the spaghetti that sticks to the ceiling and we progressives have got to learn to do it better.   

 

We're getting better issue by issue as we get email alerts and learn how to consume the blogosphere info.

 

I think FixedIntelGate is where the Internet has proved its chops against the consolidation of massive communication power and I hope we only get more obsessed and more quick and more refined.

 

More and more people will learn to participate and to make the succinct comment that distills a point or nudges in a direction. Only perception and clarity and synthesizing ability will matter eventually. 

 

I think FixedIntelGate is a bloodless coup in the making. I think truth is gaining momentum against the Big Lies.¹ I think this is actual democracy on the hoof. Like a new-born foal, our legs are a little wobbly, but like Secretariat, our heart is huge and when we grow up, we'll run like the wind.

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If you know an agent, editor, publisher person who would handle this kind of rage for justice, rage for peace material, please let me know at .. pogblog@yahoo.com

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¹ (Please check pogblog Glossary for unfamilar words.)

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chancelucky's blog

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8 Light . Ahau . Flower . South  tzol 60  07.31.05 sun

ffsk 394  8783§24d8h36m59s

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the pro-peace world begins today with you

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Judith Miller Drinks KoolAid — The Unsung Sin of FixedIntelGate

Judith Miller Drinks KoolAid —

The Unsung Sin of FixedIntelGate

     Remember Chalabi? The re-Rise of that Snake, that Crook Chalabi is appalling.

    What never gets told in the nefarious FixedIntelGate is that Ahmad Chalabi is the Svengali, the rotten manipulating liar, the chalabi, and the snake who charms the snake charmers. Like quisling, chalabi should become an ordinary lowercase word of indelible infamy. Chalabi was the guy who fed barely cooked lies to the eager Bush neocon America Imperium Hubrisites.

     What never gets told is that Chalabi’s Lying Cabal of supposed defected or escaped informants told quickly-swallowed-whole Lies to Dick Cheney, his champion, and then to Judith Miller about supposed exact locations of Weapons of Mass Destruction (a terrifying phrase, gods know). I remember Dick on some show saying in effect, ‘We have precise intelligence about where Saddam is hiding chemical and biological weapons and labs, weapons of mass destruction. We have actual addresses.’ The implication was that Intelligence had the specific addresses not from these opportunistic conmen (as we found out much too much later when grimly too late the proper in-depth, less credulous reporting was finally done), but from men sold as heroic escapees. Chalabi made sure they each had an harrowing, usually blood-curdling story even if as it often much later turned out, they hadn’t set foot in <?xml:namespace prefix = st1 ns = “urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:smarttags” />Iraq for a decade. The Weapons of Mass Destruction were at 1239 Al-Rashid Blvd, 2466 Khulafa Ave., 791 Rabia St., 1438 Al Thawra St., 12379 Qutaiba St. — in the basement, in the back courtyard, in the shed. In the palace buried under the cistern. When they weren’t in one of those also never-found sinister mobile labs being ever shuttled around the dunes.

    Remember this is before the war when to everyone’s flabbergasted surprise, Saddam was jujitsuily letting inspectors go wherever they wanted to go. (One of the great Reptilian Big Lie Talking Points still to this day is that Saddam refused to let the inspectors inspect. That had been true years earlier, but was not true in this time frame.)

     The sleight-of-hand was that we could have sent the inspectors to all those basements and secret rooms at the ‘specific addresses.’ We could have revealed that no WMD existed before the war if we had waited even a month because the inspectors were proving and proving daily that no WMD was where it was supposed to be. The inspectors could have run the whole table of addresses of these supposed “secret” caches of  weapons of mass destruction before the war, but I believe that NeoCon Boys duped Judith Miller et al, but didn’t drink their own KoolAid. They wanted to get the war well begun before too many questions were awkwardly asked. And the doubts suddenly cast by Mr. Wilson on July 06, 2003 struck a raw nerve about FixedIntel, intel fixed to fit the policy as the Downing Street Memo calls it – which Mr. Wilson called ‘intelligence twisted to exaggerate the threat.’

     Judith Miller goes way up the Food Chain of Lies in terms of contacts. Subverting the New York Times was a great coup for the mongrel Mongers of War. (The NYT apologized for 13 gullible articles, 10 of which were written by Ms. Miller.)

     I wonder who up the Food Chain of Lies is letting her rot in jail to cover His janus-faces &/or rump?

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What I Didn’t Find in Africa  .. Joe Wilson;

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Chalabi emerges, once again .. Hannah Annam;

 

pict of ‘Rummy’ being Chummy with Saddamie;

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If you know an agent, editor, publisher person who would handle this kind of rage for justice, rage for peace material, please let me know at .. pogblog@yahoo.com

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It’s an honor to have you visit pogblog. Do comment.

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Please send pogblog’s link to your friends:
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7 Rainstorm . Cauac . Redbird . West  tzol  59  07.30.05 sat
♫ffsk 523  8783§24d8h36m59s
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the pro-peace world begins today with you
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the Third Thing . .. .. Photonic Physics

the Third Thing  .. Photonic Physics

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    Imagine between the two of you a translucent globe in which your conversation emerges like a play, a terrain, shifting and embellishing as each of you speaks. It has a softer lucence than a crystal ball. Roughly two feet in diameter, it is bigger than a snow globe. It is not you nor him; it is the Third Thing.

    The Third Thing floated between them like a continent seen by a hawk. The Third Thing, an aleph, was detailed as you dove in closer like the hawk for a fish. The Third Thing was a mystery. It was sacred and thrilling.

    Risma and Pal Ace were mulling over the talk they were giving at <?xml:namespace prefix = st1 ns = “urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:smarttags” />ContactCollege the next evening. ContactCollege had been established to promote tolerance for individual differences, the tolerance Earthers would need in a big way when the awaited, the expected they finally arrived, or, as was more likely, revealed themselves.

     The Third Thing, Cosa Tercera, had been invented on Bylar, Risma and Pal Ace’s planet of origin. The Third Thing was one of Bylar’s greatest inventions, their e=mc2. Another dazzling Bylar invention was the whimsical wind toys that they designed during their lives and placed on their graves as a droll reminder of their playful attitude to both life and to the death swan- dive into a different sea..

    As they discussed their talk, the Third Thing, luminous between Risma and Pal Ace, changed and glimmered as their mutual creation took place before their eyes. On Bylar, the Third Thing had been as visible and tangible as, say, a cloud. Like a cloud, the Cosa Tercera was light and it floated. Like a cloud, it was substantial but changed shape beautifully and easily.

Bylars could make their thoughts substantial because they were trained from small children to be precise and actual about their thoughts. And they thought about their feelings and felt about their thoughts.

    “We’ll talk about Plato and the black horse and the white horse, Risma said. “And about the ‘celtic knotting’ or interweaving of subjective and objective, of how the Third Thing is a shared ‘work’ or ‘play’ of art between two people. The Third Thing allows, indeed requires passion, but keeps that passion from knocking the nodes or chakras out of kilter.

    “Of course the discarnate have a fluidity and immediacy of thought because of the medium in which they dwell. The Bylar legerdelight was to accomplish that liberty and art for the bodied who had different rules.”

    Pal Ace watched the play, the drama in the Globe between them as Risma presented her thoughts in a holographic form on their shared ‘stage.’ He said, “Between us we might be able to make the chariot and the black and the white horses tangible enough that our audience can actually get the lively sensation of the Third Thing. We can explain that all great thought is in stories because people there get images which give force and vitality to ideas. Abstract ideas are about as attractive as plucked chickens.”

Ri laughed. “I know, abstraction is so false, so tepid, so pallid. The darling universe itself couldn’t stand the emptiness and loneliness of concepts. It poured its lonely heart into the violent and vivid art of the stars and the jewels of foxes and cats. It adores its creation. You can hear it purring on the cosmic subsonics.

    “Now, let’s say the white horse is reason and the black horse is the more chthonic or earthy, the passions. If one hopes to depend on only one horse, the chariot will veer in a circle. You must get the two horses to pull in equal measure or you won’t get anywhere.

    “You might also say that the white horse is the objective force and the black horse is the subjective force, and you have to get those forces and horses,” she laughed again, “to pull together as a team.”

    Pal Ace said, “Let’s make sure they realize that the Third Thing, the Cosa Tercera Globe is ‘outside’ them both. This crucial spaciality allows them to have an argument without it getting ‘personal.’ It allows the catharsis we get from seeing passions played at a ‘safe’ distance on the stage. The Third Thing is the stage ‘out there’ that we use to play out the drama of this conversation. Of course this Third Thing process is already happening on Earth in a fragmentary and cloudy way. Because the process is unconscious here, it is incomplete and not artful.”

Pal Ace continued, “At first, as with any art or craft, participating in a Globe feels awkward and slow. Eventually it’s like a dance. It feels melodic, indeed, rhapsodic, a woven song. And the Third Thing is eventually much quicker because people don’t come to these unpredictable grueling stops or lurches as suddenly their feelings get hurt and they balk or sulk, and the conversation, the shared creation, comes to a dead halt.

    “The Globe teaches you and allows you to adjust the amount of subjectivity and objectivity you mainline, as it were, so that you stay comfortable and can enjoy the appropriate exhilaration of artistic thought.

    “It is as if detachment were one wing and attachment the other. You glide or fly according to the needs of the winds on your way. Sometimes you need a stronger effort from detachment, sometimes from attachment in order to bank and wheel with or against the winds.

    “You cripple yourself, you cannot take flight, without both.”

Risma added, “The genius of the Third Thing is that it doesn’t achieve peace, a lively calm, or an exhilarated serenity by denying or withdrawing passion. Passion need not be buffered, extirpated (uprooted), diluted, or amputated.

    “No, the Third Thing gives passion an honored and essential job to do. Passion provides the colors, the radiance, to the forms in the Globe.

“Passion runs amuck when it has nothing to do. The thing passion wants is to bring to bear is its unquenchable vitality, its fabulous force. It can be directed. Its danger or waste is when it’s loosed too long in mental realms where it serves nothing but thought or fantasy, where there is no resistance for it to match or accommodate.

    “The Third Thing insists that passion create. Passion can kick over the sandcastle in the air, but then its willfulness is obvious.

    “Neurosis and selfishness are a personal, interior condition. The Third Thing Globe requires attention out of the self, shared responsibility, and keen listening to what the partner in creation is actually doing. It is a living chess game with unexpected pieces played on a terrain instead of a board.

    “Meditation can develop, perhaps, the skill of personal imagination, of creating the holy holograph, but the drawback is that one may get puffed up or even lazy, have self-pride or self-humility rather than shared pride. The mutuality of the Third Thing keeps both artists honest.”

Risma asked Pal Ace, “What was it like when you first came here and discovered that they hadn’t even a clue about the Third Thing?”

    “Well, at first I couldn’t believe it. I kept putting out my impressions and energy offerings in the Globe Field. And then like — you remember Sarabel? Sarabel would suddenly get all huffy, self-righteously indignant, and wounded. In amazement and eventually some exasperation, I’d plead, a hundred hundred times, “Sarabel, it isn’t about you, it’s about it!’

    “The dear lady didn’t know what the blue blazes I was talking about because she and hers had never heard about the Third Thing. Our conversation kept getting shipwrecked on the shoals of her personal feelings.

    “One of the limitations’ of solipsism, of any self-referent system is that it always works! It feels so sweet and sleek and inevitable. Not unlike the illusion of being In Love,” he added wryly.

    “The beauty of the Third Thing is that it allows perspective, a different point of view, to nourish the design.’”

    A tall bald man in the audience raised his hand. The anti-grav mike was moved above him remotely by the AGM tech in the holovision truck out back.

    “Sherrard Gray from the NorthEastKingdom, Vermont, USA. Earlier in this Third Thing Conference, I watched you and Pal Ace give a Third Thing demonstration. I was astonished at the quick bright deftness of your shared creation. It was as quick and layered as seeing a magic deck of cards shuffled — two halves swiftly, layer after layer, became one thing.

    “I just wanted to know how the interaction felt for each of you subjectively? I wondered if we Earthers could get accustomed to that brisk, maybe brusque exchange — if it might not be too strong for us?.

    Pal Ace answered smiling, “That’s a perfect question. The Third Thing provides protection from personal injury.

    “It’s true that Risma and I know that, often, the stronger we are there in the Globe, the sooner the chaff of our personal thought blows away, and we’re both left with a truer kernel.

    “We are focused on the Third Thing, not ourselves.” Risma smiled at Sherrard Gray, NorthEast Kingdom, Vermont, USA. She said, “The way it feels is that there, between us, is a land ne’er seen, an air pristine, in which we two can now create a new wonder to fascinate our fellows later. This place alive, this Third Thing is our refuge from our only selves. This conversation’ — trivial, formal, urgent, mild, wild — is brand new in this Third Place. We may even rough and tumble here; it is the rough and tumble which gives the dull stone its shine.

    “This being ‘objective about subjectivity’ and ‘subjective about objectivity’ engages the whole brain, the whole spherical consciousness.

    “Our duty is to the beauty of the Third Thing. The changes of light or mood can be as quick, as chiaroscuro and dappled as on a windy cloud-strewn, sun-struck afternoon. Or as soft and small as cradling a silver kitten purring in your lap. The key is not getting one’s personal feelings hurt. That alone stops creation, dialogue, shoves the story into a mucky ditch. Thus, it’s not about you, it’s about it.

    “So much of our interaction is sequential monologue. Few really listen. As bits of the other’s soliloquy strike you, you are preparing attack or doubt, or the shape of your own agreement. Few can have a soft mind, view the Third Thing intently, then co-create — add or multiply the subject.

    “For Bylars, you know, the very world is a Third Thing between us and the deities. We are always in vivid dialogue with the creation. Remember too that to Bylars, ‘creation’ is a verb, is unfinished. We have a dialogue with ‘creationing’ then.

    “The Third Thing feels like surfing a mobius strip. Through the Third Thing, you can dare energy that might well be toxic or even discombobulatingly positive taken directly. Your duty to the shared story, tiny or grand; your allegiance to the allegory that emerges between you; the Third Thing allows you to experience states and qualities, dark and light from a careful and compassionate distance. The Third Thing is the cocoon from which your co-created butterfly flies.”

    Pal Ace added, “It’s not possible to remain neurotic with practice at the Third Thing because neurosis is always rooted in fear for the self, fear that one will not be sufficiently esteemed. In the Third Thing, the self is irrelevant. Yes, it does take some practice if you are not brought up to it. You keep thinking ‘This is about me, about my opinions, about my deepest knowledge, my foundations, my clear truths.’

    “But the Third Thing is not ‘my’ at all. It is a shared alchemy. The freedom from ‘my’ is the most powerful liberty of consciousness. Through the Third Thing you can bring to bear every single iota you have ever learned and harvested, yet it is not personal. You have the blessed freedom there to try out new thoughts and feelings because you have no need to defend or justify your old thoughts and feelings. You can use them, but you don’t need to hang on to them.

    “The Third Thing was a revolution throughout the galaxy because it brings a creative discipline to inter-action that had been unexamined and hidden in a single seeker before. I cannot overemphasize how far and quickly your mind-heart expands after you bring thought into a shared creating light.

    “The shift of perspective is as astounding as the shift from flat earth to sphere.

    “To Bylars state-shifting is as natural as water being liquid, ice, or vapor. They practice from youth transversing densities, finding the validities and energy differences from density to density. The wavelengths are different is all. Death is just a different color, you might say. Not ultraviolet or infrared, but transviolet and trans-red.”

    Risma looked out over the riveted audience whose minds had in that very evening become more delicate and yielding. More supple and silky. Oddly, she thought, people grasp their own mind more ferociously than even so-called material goods.

    She asked Pal Ace, “You did some density studies in your early going, did you not?”

    Pal Ace smiled knowing how often they had Thirded their density experiences. “Yes, I have a report on Density Policy before the Galactic Council as we speak. I am convinced that inter-density blackouts such as prevail on Earth are barbaric. I am not unaware of the toxicity of many consciousnesses on Earth and the early thoughts that certain quarantine measures were necessary for the protection of the wider galaxy from pollution.

    “This punitive mentality does not lead to rehabilitation.”

    Risma spoke softly, “Pal Ace and I are convinced that the problems that the galactic Spiritos don’t want to face are being faced here, enacted here on Earth. No one in the galaxy really wants to confront their shadow sides. We all like to pretend we’re purer than we are. We all pretend that we wish to be purer than we truly do wish to be.

    “The intra-density blackout, the transopaque curtain, just covers up hypocrisy on both sides of the thin-but- opaque divide.

    “In Pal Ace’s Density Report which we pretty much thirded, we suggest that a concerted effort to present the Third Thing will rather quickly clear out the dumb mental garbage that comes from people staring inward all the time. Then maybe we could open up the density blockades and share through the Third Thing some daggone honesty about the complexities of consciousness.

    “We hope you all had an interesting time. May your thirding always be rewarding.” 

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If you know an agent, editor, publisher person who would handle this kind of rage for justice, rage for peace material, please let me know at .. pogblog@yahoo.com
………….<^>……………..
It’s an honor to have you visit pogblog. Do comment.
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Check pogblog’s Glossary for brave & nefarious words.
copyright pogblog 2005 all rights reserved
Please send pogblog’s link to your friends:
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11 Flint . Knife tzolkin 258  05.30.05 monday
 
for Jamie Fuller, his favorite

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the pro-peace world begins today with you
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Militant Pacifism & Cheney's Law, the National Child Mutilator Registry .. Toad Spawn, Be Gone! .. Exorcize Prez. Bush .. Chapter 6

Toad Spawn, Be Gone! the Exorcizm of George Bush from America's Soul

 

Chapter 6 .. Militant Pacifism & Cheney's Law, the National Child Mutilator Registry ..


   
Professor Quetzal said, “We better enlist our readers in the Child Mutilator Registry campaign. Child Molestation is self-evidently grotesque. Children should be left to cheerful, raucous abandon without fear of being furtively pawed by some cretinous aging drooler.

    “However, one-to-one in seriously sick from the ethical perspective is the Child Mutilator. Until our Leaders and their Fervent Followers, the Killer 12ftTall Lizards in Human Disguise are mellowed, for our own protection we must have a National Child Mutilator Registry. If you have mutilated a child or mafially contracted to have a child mutilated on your behalf, we need to know so we can keep our uninfected cheerful clown children from your virulently contagious influences. At least until we develop the vaccine. Sadly, many of your diseases are hot-airborne. We do not want our delightstruck clown children paralyzed and disfigured by the botulisms of your creeds and greeds.

    “You cry, ‘It’s in a good cause, these wars!’ The mutilation of a child can not be in a good cause, ipso facto. Child molestation is supremely disgusting, but if you can go one boschian rung lower on the ladder of ice down into cold Hell, Child Mutilation is one re-eat your-own-vomit degree of more sickening.

    “At least the Child Molester has to be faced with his own disfigured self-loathing in the mirror every morning when he shaves.”

      The Blue interrupted, “Unless he’s a taliban child molester who never shaves.”

    “Goaaal!” said Salma Nella whose hatred of religiopatrio chest-thumping hypocrisies was ivory – 99.666% pure.

    Quetzal smiled that smile to which Myrth was addicted. For the sake of the joke you had to maintain a deadpan, but with the faintest northernlights of extra glow in the aura around his face and an extra burnish of the mischief in his brown eyes, Quetzal nodded the wry nod.

    “The Child Mutilator wants some anodyne layers of denial between him:or:her and the brain-exploding acts they are allowing in their name. The mafia does contract hits so the blood-splatter evidence is on someone else’s cheap suit. But the Mutilated-Children karmic score goes in your column, pilgrim, by not one digit less. A child:mutilation is a child:mutilation is a child:mutilation. You can’t pretty it up unless you’re depraved or insane.

    “If I have to live next door to someone willing to call child-mutilating collateral damage, I want to know.

    “If you in your hometown take a grenade and throw it at a child or mow them down with an M16UziAK47, you go to jail, get battered with outrage and shunning, get wired up in the fry chair and e-lek-tro-cuted. If the mutilated child is exactly the same End, but your Means is a noble son dropping a bomb from 10,000 ft or mowin’ ’em down with the M16UziAK47, you get parades, holidays, and sousa music? You do go to Karmic Jail, and it’s a profound security prison, let me tell you, and that is a faint solace for us. If you had to touch them as they died; if you had to push their wheel chair; if you had to look over their shoulder into the same mirror as them as they have to see every day that they’ll never be pretty again; if you had to sit with them as they watch unmutilated kids play basketball or soccer. The jury that judges you is dead children, pilgrim. Not the protoplasmic jelly in the womb you so luridly defend, but the once-leaping, once-laughing, once-hopscotching whose hullabaloo and delicious lives you spindled, mutilated, folded, and collateralized.”

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If you know an agent, editor, publisher person who would handle this kind of rage for justice, rage for peace material, please let me know at .. pogblog@yahoo.com

………….<^>……………..

It’s an honor to have you visit pogblog. Do comment.

………….….<^>……………..

Check pogblog’s Glossary for brave & nefarious words.

copyright pogblog 2005 all rights reserved

Please send pogblog’s link to your friends:

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6-23-05 02:20a.pdt.us 9 Wind. Ik . Whirlwind  wedthur

ffwofw

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NOTE: Cheney's Law as the moniker for pogblog's Campaign to Inititate a National Child Mutilator's Registry is the tangent off a chancelucky(http://chancelucky.blogspot.com/) coinage of Reagan's Law as its moniker, better in many ways but I decided not poisonously immediate enough. Chancelucky is a frequent pogblog commentator. Reagan's Law was a felicitous phrase indeed and as Digrif noted “pitchperfect.”

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Political Meth and Crop Circles

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Political Meth and Crop Circles

 

   Now a lot of you political junkies are used to pogblog’s political meth so don’t get whiplash withdrawal here. The whole point of the political hyper-alert and super-zing of synapses is to end up with our pretty planet being more just and generous and cheerful, saving savagery for satire and Grand Theft Auto. So we can end up having lots more art and lots more sloth. The greatest sloth for the greatest number. At least that’s a part of my subtext. Integrate lucid waking and lucid dreaming and enter the holospheric future that’s coming whether we like it or not. Clutching onto linearity and excess-stored wealth will look quaint in 50 years. Invest across the multi-dimensional boards in any-&-every thing holo.You’ll get rich in all the ways that matter. Really. The linears lose.   

     I like to think you find the best political invective on the planet on pogblog – what some nice person called an alloy of platinum and plutonium — but it’s meant to be usefully ruthless, not just jerkoff self-indulgent. Analysis should be bloody fascinating to read as well as ice-pick piercing. We’re not giving up on scathe and flay til we have a bountiful minimum wage, more sloth, and stop calling nationally-sanctioned child mutilation in foreign countries ‘collateral damage.’

    Luckily unlike the Wretched Fevered Theofascist Opposition, we can chew gum and walk at the same time. So I hope pogblog’s earned enough linear cred from you to give this crop circle entry a one-time try before you clik out. I know you think it’s all crap. But suppose it isn’t? The inescapable point is, is that it is the most glorious modern art on the planet however it gets here. At least go look once and then decide. You can go look and come back here or read this to inform your looking. Scroll down to the middle of the Crop Circle Connector page and clik on early July.

    So unclench your brain and let’s think energetics. Wheat and barley and butterflies and you and me and parrots all store and transform the energy, the radiance, of the central sun. We’re nifty alchemists on the hoof (cloven for the Republicans) or on the wing or in our kernels. Humankind and humanunkind have stored more knowledge energy per unit than ever before in ourstory. Part of the all-but-weightless massive and magnificent patterned energy accumulation is in our memories of art.

      Sometimes on a very hot day you can go outside and feel the pressure of sun upon yourself. Sometimes when I go to the <?xml:namespace prefix = st1 ns = “urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:smarttags” />Museum of Modern Art and stand stunned in the room with Thiebault or Klee or Miro or Rembrandt or a Michaelangelo Pieta, I feel the pressure of the art upon me. My all-but-weightless mind stuff is impacted, is alchemically changed and rearranged but not of stuff on a periodic chart, but a stuff none the less also real.  

     The crop circles are pattern-stuff-shifters. Now, you can be more conscious of what’s happening to your self-substance when you engage with art and crop circles, or you can piffle out. We haven’t got instruments (other than our own brains and skin &c) to measure this all-but-weightless interaction yet, but we can attest to it. If you haven’t gone and looked at a dozen crop circles yet, do it now or you’ll dwell in unswell ignorance because we’re going to take a quantum leapfrog here.

      Now that you’ve seen the touching and glorious crop circles and been frankly amazed and startled and less dogmatic (unless you’re dumb or zomboid), consider that these astonishing and simply huge works of art tweak your dna. By seeing them, your energy absorption capacities, you as capacitor as it were, are spatially enlarged. The way I like to think about is that you can absorb or discern more colors of blue, say. As the Eskimos have 25 words for snow, you in collaboration with your fabulous space suit can operate in more ranges of ‘colors.’ The crop circles are like hieroglyphs (oneiroglyphs really) that impress or tattoo or brand your energy self with an increased alchemy-aesthetic capacity. This isn’t trivial. It allows you to arrange and form and transform much more data. Hamburger data, icecream data (i.e. kinesthetically stable data); emotional data (a different frequency that intellectual data); cultural data; and so on. You’re being eased into becoming a more super-bio-computer than you already fabulously are.

     The crop circles are part of the keys of flame that are igniting a quantum jump in spherical consciousness. To glimpse this, imagine any crop-circle as a crop-sphere and let it zephyrically rotate around you or if that’s too big a spheric leap, imagine it outside yourself as if that particular pattern were gently shifting like a spherical kaleidoscope. That way you can get more used to flying around in the upcoming energy like a parrot instead of cowering underground eating roots and dead spiders like a Republican or a mole.

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Cogism .. .. Capitalism become Psychotic

Cogism .. Capitalism become Psychotic

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ToadSpawn, Be Gone! The Exorcizm of George Bush from America's Soul Chapter 8

 

     I've been trying to grok the horror of these Present Menaces' creed of giga-greed. One always needs the fortune-cookie phrase or word. I got it: cogism. A ‘cog’ is one of a series of identical interchangeable teeth, as on the rim of a wheel or gear.
    Some more quick vocabulary is in order. These words have been floating around in the political lexicon but they don't quite grasp the present extreme American situation. What's wrong? Why is it so horrible and mean? Fascism is an unholy (tho usually holier than thou) alliance among business, military, and government. A theocracy is a government ruled by or subject to religious authority – not unlike our present mob who are swept by the winds of piety. Oligarchy — the rule of a few. Plutocracy — government of the wealthy. Yes, these words have been floating around in the political lexicon but they don't quite grasp the present extreme American situation. So what's wrong? Why is it so horrible and mean?
    I was gonna call the Present Phenomenon FatHogism and remark sardonically that They don't need to get fatter, They got plenty of bacon already, the FatHoggers. Ha ha. 
    My model of, like, a Buenopia, a society that works pretty well is Europe where they invented al fresco dining and even the bus drivers and janitors get four weeks of paid vacation a year to allow for life other than as a minion or a cog. Another basic self-evident truth ought to be that each person's life is as valuable to them as any other person's is to them. This seems even tautological, but our society does not act in that sweet and evident light.
    What's happened in a peapod is that to the giga-greed corporations, those grim reapers of the harvest of our labor, to Them, we are cogs. They screw us under the fog of socially-correct, slippery platitudes; tranquilize us with cars; sports; war; malls. But we are really interchangeable; we are cogs in the profit machine. They pretend that we matter, like the Leaders pretend that the soldiers they send to slaughter matter.
   They think nothing of buying up a company, putting its assets into new company-A & its liabilities into company-B which they then put into bankruptcy. Only to find out in the small print that bankrupted Company B is the company that now has all the disappeared pensions of the retired people and the promised long-term health plans of the workers, 2/3 of whom are laid off and replaced by temp workers who are offered no benefits whatever and eat it because they're desperate for a job of any kind — or unkind. In our Cogacracy, the platinum parachutists gobble up the assets and spit out the bones of the workers.
   The profit motive has taken such an aggressive and gruesome and all but medieval turn that it chills the blood. Even in medieval times the hoggishly rich were wrung out of a few pence by Fear of Damnation — tithing was considered de rigueur if you wanted to squeeze through ye olde eye of the needle instead of through ye latest tax loophole.
   At what point does profit go past a reasonable profit so you can live comfortably and become an filthy obscene profit? At what point does an filthy obscene profit become the moral equivalent of usury? This Midas/Miser Syndrome, this horrible acquisitiveness, CEOs gorging soullessly on their gold, has become, heaven does forbid, admired widely in
<?xml:namespace prefix = st1 ns = “urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:smarttags” />America. Dear President Clinton said “Nowhere in the Bible does it allow us to exalt the rich over the poor.” Clearly not. Well, I prefer to also go to the undeniable bible (‘bible’ with a small ‘b’), the undeniable bible of the sky and the trees and the birds and the beasts. Naked we all stand in that holy light, without facades. The ditchdigger has no less strength and glory under the just stars than does a titan of industry. The titan of industry has hogged up on the backbreaking work of the ditchdigger. Dig your own damn ditches and see how you would wish to be treated, Cogist.
   I don’t mind grotesque differences in gross accumulation of cold midas gold. It just seems just that if you’re really so damn smart Mr. FatHog, you could figure out as an obvious ethical fiat how to provide healthcare for your workers and a wage that could lead to a 10th of your comfort.
   Every single elected official should be required to spend one seven-day week of each month while they are privileged to serve actually living on the minimum wage. And that same week be required to take public transportation exclusively. And no hoarding of tasty snacks to ease the week on minimum wage. No secret stash of expensive well-brewed beer. Chivas Regal would blow the budget. Compliance would be monitored in Minimum Wage Week. My friends, my dear perceptive luminous friends, how FAST – HOW FAST do you think the minimum wage would rise if the FatHogs had to live on it? How soon a gracious rise in the frequency of buses?
   We need to lash our hearts to every policy decision. We may not cogize people. (As E.B. White once said, “I’d as soon simonize my grandmother.”) We may not cogize people. The quality of mercy cannot be abridged.
   People are as afraid to speak out against obscene FatHog amounts of money in this country as they are to speak out against war. Well, I dare & you must dare too. Will you be able to face the lidless eyes of God who judges only that you were kind or unkind? God cannot blink and sees if you dwell in greed or in generosity. Cogism is not kind. It does not seek to uplift thy brother. That bum on the street corner? That is Jesus asking for a dime. It is always a test. It is Jesus to whom you are denying healthcare. It is Jesus to whom you are paying a meager minimum wage. It is Jesus to whom you are paying minimum wage so some FatHogger can have eight Hummers. Is there no place on the Richter Scale of outrage where the terror of the shaking wakes you up? Does it make you more secure to have more than 10 years worth of my annual wage in your bank accruing what? Interest? Spiritual mold?
   My capitalist friend Bill from
Canada is a super-entrepreneur up there, but he pulled his business-card-sized National Health Card out of his wallet and said, “If I am sick anywhere in Canada, I can get help. You people are crazy in America. Single payer is so obvious.” It isn’t the people who are crazy in America, it is the FatHogging Cogists. It is the Cogists who imagine that there is anything right about making obscene profits on other people’s pain. There is a difference between profit and profit at any cost.
   It is not right to cut all the art and music out of schools so the mongers of fear and the mongers of giga-greed can buy more and more and more war machines. Our souls – your soul and mine – are stained by complicity in these giga-greed creeds. Our silence stains us.
   Let them roll in cake, our FatHog Cogist masters, let them stuff cake down their own throats like the foie-gras geese until their livers become swollen and fat and greasy. Let them roll in cake. But should we stuff their coffins with cake? As they, a new phantom, stand beside  their cake-stuffed coffin and look starkly back over their life, will they be glad for the bomb they bought to blow up a kid in
Iraq? Will they hold content and deep in their heart the lives their free enterprise impoverished so their coffin could be stuffed with cake? There is no free enterprise. There is no free love. You must pay the peace of your heart if you do not do these things as right as you can. Be as harmless as  you can.
   It is Gandhi whose pension you stole, Mr. Free Market. The free market is costly. The free market is costly in human peace of mind. It is Martin Luther King to whom you denied healthcare, Mr. FatHog Cogist. Your giga-greed has consequences. It is not ethically neutral. God has lidless eyes. God does not blink. God does not look aside.
   There are too many Scrooges in
America now. Too many accumulating and accumulating Scrooges. And too few Tiny Tims finally noticed.
   The thunder will astonish you. You will wake and your heart will break, your heart will break. You might have done right and you did not. If by your business or by your investments, you find yourself forgetting the faces and the tears of the people whose lives and whose labor are providing you your semi-annual dividends, you are become a Cogist. And if I were you, I would tremble at the judgment, at how long in hell it takes to pay off the debt you accrued in unkindness. A terrible toll will be exacted. The 10th circle of hell is not hot; it is relentless ice. To remind you. To remind you dreadfully of your cold cold cogist heart.

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3 Eagle . Men . West  tzol 55  07.26.05 tues  8783§24d8h36m59s

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Karl Rove .. “Where conscience forbids most others . . .”

Update on FixedIntelGate & Mr. Rove's Satanism:

<?xml:namespace prefix = o ns = “urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:office” /> 

     I saw Mr. McCain on BeachBall when he lost even the seed-corn of his soul. He parrots the RNC (Reptilian National Committee) Talking Points about Joe Wilson and FixedIntelGate as if he had a key to turn in his yellow-striped back. He lived through prisoner of war camp hell to throw away his moral compass now? The bloodsplatter of corruption this White House has despoiled so many people with is boschian¹.

     As Jay Inslee (D Washington) said about our going to <?xml:namespace prefix = st1 ns = “urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:smarttags” />Iraq under false pretences which is the hub of this FixedIntelGate  wheel, “In Watergate, nobody died.”)

 

      I vividly remember a candidates' panel that Larry King had on after South Carolina in the run-up to the 2000 coronation. John McCain was so angry at George Bush for the pushpolling character assassination orchestrated by the utterly-ugly-of-souless Karl Rove and his other vicious early proto-swiftboatian tactics that McCain was leaning white-faced and hissing across the anchor desk, “You should apologize, George. You know what I mean. You should apologize, George.” etc. Then on BeachBall a few days ago, he just shrugs it off!?

 

I terrified the cats so much rage did I hurl at the tv. I stamped around the living room slavering I gotta say. I thought maybe McCain or Hagel would have a vertebra if not a spine.

 

The two missing pieces I am crazed to know are who asked Marc Grossman to ask Carl Ford to do the State Department Memo? (I recall a long time ago that Joe Wilson said that he still had friends in the 'business' who told him that 'the White House had asked for a work-up on Wilson' — I  sort of recall the work-up being posited as being that March or April 2003, not the June 10 date?) My gloss on the idea of 'work-up' is that it sounded like some j:edgar:hoovery Get The Dirt or the Lever kind of thing. That's the piece I want to know about.

 

And who in the heck is Judy Miller protecting? Whoever it is is just letting her stew in jail. Could it be whoever foie-gras force-fed her that convincing villain Chalabi to whom we really owe all of this fantasy cum nightmare in the Cradle?

 

I heard as a total rumor that Fitzgerald knows who her source is but needs her to say it in order to proceed or prosecute?

 

In an article in the Atlantic Nov 2004, Josh Green talks about Karl Rove’s willingness, as a few examples among many, to start a whisper campaign in Texas to smear Ann Richards as being a lesbian and lesbian sympathizer, [stupid] anathemas in the back country of  the Lone Star State. A pushpolling in South Carolina calling Mrs. Cindy McCain a drug addict and Mr.McCain, the ‘father’ of a black baby. (They adopted a child from Bangladesh actually.) “‘What Rove does,’ says Joe Perkins, ‘is try to make something so bad for a family that the candidate will not subject the family to the hardship. Mark is not your typical Alabama macho, beer-drinkin', tobacco-chewin', pickup-drivin' kind of guy. He is a small, well-groomed, well-educated family man, and what they tried to do was make him look like a homosexual pedophile. That was really, really hard to take.’
    “Rove seems to understand—indeed, to count on—the media's unwillingness or inability, whether from squeamishness, laziness, or professional caution, ever to give a full estimate of him or his work. It is ultimately not just Rove's skill but his character that allows him to perform on an entirely different plane. Along with remarkable strategic skills, he has both an understanding of the media's unstated self-limitations and a willingness to fight in territory where conscience forbids most others.” 

“Where conscience forbids most others.”


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2 Jaguar . Ix . Ocelot . Panther . North  tzol 54  07.25.05  mon  ffsk 616 8783§24d8h36m59s.. the pro-peace world begins today with you

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WalktheTalk Solution to the daily hell of poverty

WalktheTalk Solution .. ToadSpawn, Be Gone! Appendix T 

  

    My solution is simple. Let each paid elected citizen-servant from the president to the mayor live on minimum wage and take public transportation for one week of each month for the duration of their term. You’re too important? Nope. Don’t like it? Don’t run for office. (By the way, there won’t be any hoarding Samuel Adams for the WalktheTalk Week. You drink what you can afford that week.) Hard on the kids is it? Yeah, well.

    How fast do you think our leaders would change the minimum wage and the frequency of trains and buses? Yes, within a year society would be magically transformed. (We could always start with using that pesky $14000 a minute 24/7 we’re spending on the fantasy Missile Crackpot Scheme aka StarWars.)

   WalktheTalk Week. That’s the solution. Let’s gander at a snapshot of the problem. As of 07.22.05, in Ciudad Acuña, at the Alcoa maquiladoras (assembly plants), you make $1.21 an hour according to Bill Tucker’s report on Lou Dobb’s Business Show. You work six days a week. You may be lucky enough to live in a really horrible hovel instead of a refrigerator cardboard box. (In 1999, Mr. O’Neill, Alcoa’s ceo, who went on to become Mr. Shrub’s Secretary of Treasury until the neocons over-disgusted him, ‘had exercised $33 million in stock options beyond his $3 million salary.’)

    No one can live on the meager (emaciated) wages the actual workers make, but, God be praised, you can go across the river to <?xml:namespace prefix = st1 ns = “urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:smarttags” />Eagle Pass, Texas and sell your blood for $45 a week for pin money. Alcoa says they are very “aggressive in cost containment.” Yep. Now, if you are a troublemaker and you don’t like this what-the-word-exploitation was invented for, they remind you that they can go to Honduras and pay the peasants there 65¢ an hour. Or Nicaragua for 41¢ an hour. And if they get uppity, there’s always Haiti for 30¢ an hour.

   The courageous work done by American unions in the 20th century which led to a greater middle class and the weekend has to be done all over again globally so the corporations which don’t give one fig seed about you, pilgrim, are forced to have a facsimile of a soul. A proto-soul. Requiring ceos to live on the lowest wage in their company and take public transportation for one week of each month, the WalktheTalk Solution, would fix things fast. Ideally your imagination should supply you with the empathy, but if not, the actual experience will treat you to a transforming insight. There is a direct relationship between your obscene heavenless eye-of-the-needle riches and the daily hell of their poverty. If it’s so acceptable, you do it. WalktheTalk.

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1 Cane . Ben . Reed . East  tzol 53  07.24.05 sun 8783§24d8h36m59s

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Protecting the Identities of Covert Agents .. “a circle of doubt”

Protecting the Identities of Covert Agents  . .  .. ” a circle of doubt” .. if not a crime, a terrible wrong ..

    I transcribed (très tedious is transcribing) some of the stark and compelling unedited testimony of Patrick Lang, a CIA covert guy and a man who ran all the Dept of Defense Humint Services who is so qualified to speak on this subject that the list of his distinctions is a foot long. The text is below.  

   Well, friends, I am now immersed so deep in this FixedIntelGate matter that I see mistake after mistake by anchors and others. It’s amazing how ill-informed they are. I don’t expect them to have the info, but I do expect their producers and interns to get it. I realize now why the Lîzards have such an easy time injecting their JustPlainLies into their Talking Points, The anchors don’t know enough to challenge them.

   Today Byron Dorgan and Henry Waxman had the most extraordinary Protecting the Identities of Covert Agents ‘hearing,’ joined by  Louise Slaughter, Jay Inslee, John Conyers, and Charles Schumer, serious heroes all. It was not a proper subpoena-power hearing because the Reptilians, the Lîzards refuse to hold such a hearing. (Someone said ‘Where’s Howard Baker [Republican of Watergate,  independent of the Party Line] when we need him?’)

    There is so much to tell you, and my typing ain’t much and I’ve been transcribing in pencil on little sheets while the cats (both Burmese, silver Lucy Furr and chocolate Rowan) tramped on me. The hard part of the transcribing is letting the VCR play for a sentence, pausing, then rewinding as little as possible and then playing for the next sentence. But it’s <?xml:namespace prefix = st1 ns = “urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:smarttags” />4:45am now and I want at least to try to get the main Patrick Lang stuff down for you. All of these people in the hearing were offended in their bones at the dark damage done to the clandestine services by these acts and non-acts of the Administration.

    Transcribed from video tape of the 07.22.05 CSpan coverage, Patrick Lang says, “What has happened in regard to this disclosure and its follow-up is a kind of structural assault on the ability of the United States to have sound and well-respected and effeicient clandestine intelligence services. [Paraphrase here: The enemies now have not much of a technical signature. There’s no overhead photography of them in a pickup. They’ve gotten cunning about no signal signature.] It’s all about humint (human intelligence). Humint [usually HUMINT but that gets tiresome to look at] is about human beings. One person, an American case officer causing some foreign person to trust him enough and his unit enough and the United States enough to put his life and his fortune and indeed his sacred honor into the hands of this case officer and the American intelligence unit that stands behind this case officer. It’s all about trust. It’s completely about trust.

    The moment in which some person whether he’s an ambassador or a Montenyard in the hills of Vietnam with filed teeth decides that he’s going to trust you enough so that he’s going to believe that you’ll protect him in every way in doing what he is doing which is extremely dangerous to him and his family and to everyone else is a magic moment indeed – it’s almost sacramental in a lot of ways really. And it imposes on the case officer and the unit behind him and the United States the kind of obligations that are as serious in some ways as the seal of the confessional.

     The obligation to protect this person is absolute in fact. It’s not only absolute from the point of view of morality, it’s absolute from the point of view of practicality as well. If when in a practicing clandestine intelligence unit, the case officers believe that their superiors will not protect the identity of their sources or their own identity in fact in doing things which are dangerous and difficult, then a kind of circle of doubt begins to spread like throwing a rock into the water and it spreads in such a way so that if an intelligence service that belongs to a particular country comes to be thought generally in the world as an organization that does not protect its foreign assets, then the obvious is true in that people are not going to accept recruitment, are not going to work for you, and the smarter they are, the better placed they are, the better educated they are, the less likely they are to accept recruitment and to work for you if they believe that you are not going to fight in the last ditch to protect their identities, and so this is all completely about trust.”

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13 The Road . Eb . Grass . Rattlesnake Tooth . South  tzol 52  07.23.05 sat 8783§24d8h36m59s

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NEVER Said That the Vice President Sent Him .. Joe Wilson Wronged

NEVER Said That the Vice President Sent Him

<?xml:namespace prefix = o ns = “urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:office” /> 

I get so sick of hearing the press and the Lizard Talking-Points Bloviators say that Joe Wilson “lied” about saying that the Vice President sent him to <?xml:namespace prefix = st1 ns = “urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:smarttags” />Africa and that that's what Karlsputin was so virtuously “correcting.” 

 

Balderdash.

 

Over & over Mr. Wilson has said and this is straight from his What I Didn't Find In Africa NYT op-ed: “In February 2002, I was informed by officials at the Central Intelligence Agency that Vice President Dick Cheney's office had questions about a particular intelligence report. While I never saw the report, I was told that it referred to a memorandum of agreement that documented the sale of uranium yellowcake (a form of lightly processed ore) by Niger to Iraq in the late 1990's. The agency officials asked if I would travel to Niger to check out the story so they could provide a response to the vice president's office.” [my emphases]

 

Repeat after me: vice president's office .. vice president's office ..vice president's office ..

 

Repeat after me: The agency officials asked if I would travel to Niger .. The agency officials asked if I would travel to Niger .. The agency officials asked if I would travel to Niger .. 

 

Joe Wilson thought the question they wanted answered was serious and important.

 

It's so frustrating that these damn Big Lies such as this pernicious canard about the “Vice President” are allowed to perpetuate without challenge. The core of Rove's 'excuse' for talking to reporters simply is not true.

 

pogblog

 

You can read the whole actual Joe Wilson July 6, 2003 NYT op-ed piece.

 

For you to paste into your own blog or email:

http://query.nytimes.com/gst/abstract.html?res=F30D12F7355E0C758CDDAE0894DB404482&incamp=archive:search

 

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06:35:03a.pdt.us  12 Monkey . Chuen . Raccoon . West  tzol 51  07.22.05 fri 8783§24d8h36m59s

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